


if you stay by my side, I might break your wings

by liamneeson



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Femslash February, Fight Club AU, Gore warning, drugs and alcohol mention, side aokaga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:05:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamneeson/pseuds/liamneeson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s hard when she can’t discern herself as a spectator or a lover. The violent sport she loves puts a sick drop in her belly when she sees her girl in the ring. Riko isn’t very sure how she feels about fight club these days. Satsuki always comes home limping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you stay by my side, I might break your wings

**Author's Note:**

> This kind of came out a little grittier than i planned. I'll apologize beforehand because Momoi is going to seem super ooc in this and no elaborate explanation is offered for it because I can't be fucked. I love gritty lesbians.

The waltz is a three step dance. Riko thinks that in this sense, it is exactly like love.

Step one: Satsuki snaps.

Momoi Satsuki is a bloody mess as she bullies the rickety door of their apartment open, her key knocking into the machinations of the knob and then her shoulder butting against the door. The wood is low quality: young Cedar that has swelled from water damage so it barely fits into the doorframe and to get inside takes a herculean sort of patience. Riko always finds it funny despite the hassle but Satsuki hates it. Satsuki hates many things that start with their piled up bills and run to the shabby one bedroom that they can barely afford. No wonder she puts it upon herself to find work in dastardly places. Sometimes it’s Errands in quotation marks for the Ukrainian couple who sell meth on the sixth, sometimes its Chores (also in quotation marks) for the old lady whose laundry shop fronts a careful speakeasy. Tonight though, it is the favored fight ring where a select mass gather to watch two people duke it out: no rules, no limits, some deaths. It’s pretty chill, Riko thinks, until it’s Satsuki facing off. A few years ago Riko found the underbelly to enjoy fighters of all shapes and sizes gather and slip between the ropes of the ring when their names were drawn out of the box. No one discriminated in this part of town. If one was fool enough to drop their ballot into the box then they ought to expect the worst match up.

Riko remembers participating once and she ended up facing a giant lady from Kyoto. Ever since, she limits her participation to raucous yelling among the crowd.

Then she met Satsuki. Flowing pink hair, a smile too wide to be genuine and the sleekest muscles cording her limbs. She’d stood with a tall, dark man who Riko initially pegged as Satsuki’s boyfriend until a red-haired man not quite as dark joined them and landed a sloppy kiss on the first man, busted lip and all. When Riko found the courage to talk to Satsuki, she’d been petrified on account of her brain failing because Satsuki’s breath smelled like cherry gum and she couldn’t think of anything else. But it couldn’t have been that bad since at the end of the night, Satsuki’s face was between Riko’s legs and they’d fallen asleep a tangle of limbs on Aomine’s sofa.

Theirs is a good romance, that Riko knows. But still, it’s hard when she can’t discern herself as a spectator or a lover. The violent sport she loves puts a sick drop in her belly when she sees her girl in the ring. Riko isn’t very sure how she feels about fight club these days. Satsuki always comes home limping.

It’s not her job to whine. She is Satsuki’s girlfriend but it’s been made very clear that Satsuki doesn’t want to hear any warnings from Riko. _You knew what you went into when you said yes to me,_ were Satsuki’s constant words during fights when Riko insists she stop. Maybe it’s pride that makes Riko hold back protests whenever Satsuki leaves for a match.  So she bites the inside of her cheek when Satsuki presents her battered body and goes about her night in a pinched silence as she tries to ignore the drops of blood on the carpet.

Tonight though, Riko forgets to be uncaring because Satsuki has a bullet in her foot.  

“At least it’s not from fight club,” Satsuki says when Riko goes on about _this is exactly why I keep telling you to stop!_

“And getting slugged by an angry drug peddler seems so much more moral?” Riko retorts. Her face is red from anger and concern. When her hand flies to support Satsuki by the elbow, Satsuki whirls as if it doesn’t hurt and directs her hard gaze at Riko.

“I don’t want your help because I know the whole time you’ll be thinking I told you so. I can handle this by myself.” When Satsuki snaps, it’s not an outburst. On normal days when Satsuki isn’t haunted, she is bright and cheerful and prone to the silliest yelling about the silliest of things. But when she is pulled apart by many demons, her voice drops a decibel below freezing point and her composure frightens Riko.

Hurt, but too used to this to be really offended, Riko suddenly lets go of Satsuki’s elbow which makes Satsuki switch her weight over to the other foot. Riko’s eyes are hard as they watch Satsuki amble about and spread blood on the floor.

* * *

 

Step two: Riko watches. She watches the careful seams holding Satsuki together come undone, pulled by wounded fingers, a nervous tick.

Blood creeps slowly onto the tile of their kitchenette as Satsuki finally settles on the floor, her damaged leg stretched out in front of her, a first aid kit under her arm and a pair of tweezers in her hand. Riko almost protests: _that’s dangerous_. She’s glad her ego holds her back.

She pulls up a chair just feet away from where Satsuki is and observes. Satsuki has an ugly twist on her expression as she pushes the meat of her thigh together as if to squeeze the bullet out. She stops because it doesn’t work and because the pain has made her light-headed. Her beautiful mind whirls, then clicks. As fast as she can, she pries the hole open with one hand and stabs the tweezers into the wound. She makes gagging noises as she digs around. Riko is pretty sure that Satsuki pinches raw flesh along with the bullet as she drags it out because Satsuki’s skin is cast with gray now, as if she’s about to pass out. The tweezers and the bullet clang on the floor and Satsuki tries to erase all traces of emotion from her face as her trembling hands reach for the gauze and bandage in to kit and makes quick work patching herself up.

Riko never knows what to say or do at times like this so she gets up and pours some cheap whiskey into a teacup and hands it to Satsuki.

“Thanks.” Satsuki says, her voice hollow. She’s trying not to pant or show that she hurts all over and that she’s tired of it all. Riko is, too, she knows. Sometimes she wonders if she ought to shatter the mess of them so Riko can stop waiting for the day Satsuki’s body washes up on the riverside and Satsuki can be free to do just that without worrying about the girls who loves her.

* * *

 

Step three: Riko reaches out. She falters at the half-step following it, the one where Satsuki snaps again in a fashion so half-hearted it’s easy to overlook. But Satsuki is quick to recoil, as if her loud bark hurts her more than it hurts Riko and some days it does, when she feels particularly hateful of herself and of her instinct to flinch away when a helping hand presents itself.

Hr apologies are weak, a murmur that Riko’s ear strain to hear but it’s there anyway and Riko takes it because she knows more than anyone how rejection is an awful singe. Her hands go around Satsuki’s middle, a bony hug that is as reassuring as anything else. Her knees feel cold against the cold tile but she’s warm inside because Satsuki has pressed her face into Riko’s shoulder, crying those dry tears and sobbing just an octave above a breath.

“I’m sorry,” Satsuki’s voice croaks, her fingers seeking weak purchase on the cloth of Riko’s tshirt. Riko’s gaze is fixed on the smear of red under Satsuki’s thigh, her hands working comfort as it tangles into the long curls of pink. Of course Satsuki’s sorry now, but she’ll do it all again and against until she’s a burned out wreck. Riko knows this but it doesn’t prevent her from accommodating that feeling of calm, of love, of home.

It’s enough, if just for tonight.


End file.
